


Project Gemini

by impossiblepluto



Series: Project Gemini [1]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Cairo Day, Cairo Day 2: Improvise, Found Family, Gen, James and Ellen MacGyver had no business being parents, Non-Graphic Human Experimentation, Not James MacGyver Friendly, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), non-graphic child in peril, set in a vague and nebulous time after season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: Mac uncovers another dark family secret that has major implications for him and the rest of Team Improvise.Cairo Day 2: Improvise
Series: Project Gemini [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817443
Comments: 59
Kudos: 67





	Project Gemini

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in an ambiguous timeline after the end of season 3, but ignores 90% of what happened during the timejump and season 4. (Mainly, no romantic entanglements and the team didn't abandon each other) It is not James or Ellen MacGyver friendly.
> 
> (You don't need to watch season 4 to understand... I haven't watched it either)

The light pierces the darkness. Blinding through the windshield. 

Jack’s fingers tighten against the smooth leather of the steering wheel. Eyes narrowing against the high-beams of the oncoming car, calculating their odds and his options. His gaze flicks to his mirrors, watching for movement. Checking to see if they’re being followed. Preparing to be cut off. 

He doesn’t see anyone behind them. 

The distance between the vehicles closes. The road is narrow; twisting and lonely. One hand moves from the wheel, resting against the gun strapped on his thigh. 

Moonbeams breaking through the trees. 

He adjusts his grip on the wheel again, kneading the leather with one hand. 

The high-beams snap off.

Two vehicles pass in the night, continuing onto their destination. 

Jack breathes a soft sigh of relief. Just an asshole then. Or a forgetful driver who, like himself, wasn’t expecting to run into anyone on this deserted stretch of road. 

The tension doesn’t leak from his body. Still alert. Expecting trouble. Too many miles lie between them and safety. 

He looks over his shoulder to the backseat. A blond head resting against the window, a shock of hair falling across a face lax in sleep. It's a surprising insight into his partner, this opportunity. His face, so young and innocent and yet, even in sleep something that keeps the muscles around his eyes tense. His mouth pulled into a neutral frown. His young life hasn't been easy. There's been a lot of pain. He knows there will be a lot of trauma to work through. He hopes he'll be enough, that the kid will feel safe and secure with him. Trust him. That Jack will be enough to protect him. 

Right now, Jack’s just grateful the kid relaxed enough to fall asleep, coaxed into the backseat. Lulled to sleep by the sound of the highway and Jack’s smooth, drawl singing softly. 

* * *

He doesn’t bolt awake. Years of training have mostly driven that urge from him. It’s only the truly terrible nightmares that throw him from his bed with a gasp, heart in his throat, gulping for air. 

He stays still, listening. The familiar thrum of the jet engine reassuring him. 

Prying tired eyes open, he scans the cabin. Across the aisle, Jack watches him mildly, blanket pulled over his shoulders, looking just as exhausted as Mac feels. The sight of his partner calms his heart that beats just a tick too fast. Chasing away the remnants of his dream. 

Jack shifts in his seat, turning to watch Mac closer. “You good?”

Mac leverages himself into a sitting position. The heels of his hands pressing against his eyes, wiping away sleep and pushing aside the start of a headache. 

“Which one was it?”

When Mac opens his eyes again, Jack has turned, sitting sideways in the chair, legs in the aisle, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His expression open, but Mac can see the way his brow is lowered in concern. The blanket pooling on the floor. 

Despite the cool cabin, Mac is sweating. Or he was. He shivers lightly. “The weird one.”

Jack smiles. Brown eyes soft with amusement and worry. Jack’s default expression with Mac. “Gonna need to be a little more specific than that, kiddo.”

Mac swallows. “The one I can’t remember.” 

“You get anything more from it this time around?”

“It’s still just… flashes. I don’t know if they’re real or…” Mac’s fingers slip beneath the rolled cuff of his button down. Neither of them needs to look to know his fingers are brushing against the small scar on the inside of his arm. The scar where he tore Murdoc’s sadistic version of an IV from his skin with his teeth. Where the maniac left the needle in place instead of just the flexible catheter, the metal piercing his skin. Twisting and turning it to make sure it hurt.

It’s the scar that they have an explanation for. 

It gave context to the scar above it. Not the reason for it, but a potential source as it’s nearly identical in size and shape. But where Murdoc’s scar is pink and fresh this one is old. Faded. Mac’s had it as long as he can remember. Except that he can’t remember why it mars his skin.

Jack reaches out, laying the back on his hand against Mac’s forehead, before brushing back blond bangs that hang against his face, damp with perspiration. “They’re getting worse again.” 

Mac snorts. Vague and nebulous, but somehow distinct. Even though he can’t remember the content of this dream, he knows when he wakes from it. Different than any other dream, than any other nightmare. The way he feels when he wakes from it, feeling lost. Helpless. Vulnerable. Even his breathing is different.

They stopped soon after he met Jack. He doesn’t have a reason for that either, maybe Jack’s presence was enough to chase this particular monster from his dreams. Ramping up again after Murdoc held him chained in the basement. After Walsh locked them in the lab in Mexico. And even more after the fallout shelter in Las Vegas. 

“How long they been going on?”

“They’ve been bad lately, Jack,” Mac whispers, eyes dropping to the floor with the admission. “Worse than they’ve ever been.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“We’ve talked about it a hundred times. There’s nothing new. At least nothing I can remember.” He looks down at his hands clenched into fists. He can almost feel the cold metal biting into his flesh. 

“But they weren’t always this bad. So what’s different?” Jack leans closer. His voice soft, smooth. The drawl more pronounced and Mac recognizes his concern. His worry. The way his eyes can see through Mac’s deepest fears and darkest thoughts. 

“Come on, kid, you’re too wired. You need to relax.”

“How am I supposed to relax? When every time I close my eyes--” He stops himself, but Jack hears the unspoken words. 

“When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”

Mac looks away. 

“Six hours?”

Silence.

“Four?”

Mac doesn’t want to face Jack. He doesn’t want to see the worry, the disappointment on his face. 

Jack’s voice is soft. “Two?”

Mac looks up giving a weak smile.”’Bout a week ago.”

“Aw, kid.”

“The last time you stayed over.” 

“Hoss, that was a lot longer than a week ago.”

Mac shrugs.

Jack picks up the discarded blanket, shaking it out as he moves to the couch, settling into the corner. “C’mere.”

“I can’t.”

“I’m not asking you to sleep. Just rest.” He holds out his hand to Mac, who slowly moves closer, laying his head against Jack’s chest. The steadying, hypnotic thump of Jack’s heartbeat in his ear. Jack’s arm wrapped around Mac, hand resting against his shoulder, thumb lightly stroking his neck. The warm droning tone of Jack humming softly. 

Mac can feel his eyelids growing heavier. Warm and peaceful. Protected. 

Wisps of memories, of dreams he can’t decipher. Cold and metal, dark and damp. Looking down at his hands strapped to his sides, the small blue catheter punctures a vein. Blood back flowing into the tubing. 

His brow furrows. Hanging above him on an IV pole is a large bag of fluid. Bigger than it was in that basement. Blue tinted. 

It’s wrong. It’s--

Jack shushes him, soothing him back toward sleep before the thoughts can invade his consciousness and rob him of rest. 

The panic is pushed aside. Jack is with him. Will protect him.

It’s still wrong though. The hands are wrong. They’re his hands. He recognizes them, strapped down so he can’t move.

No. 

A familiar voice tells him to hold still. Don’t fight.

It’s not the warm Texas drawl comforting him. Easing worry and soothing his pain. 

Nor is it the smooth taunting voice he associates with the darkness.

But it is familiar. Cold and clinical. Lecturing and scolding. 

He’s alone again. He tests the restraints. He can’t help himself. He knows how to get away. How to loosen them and yet he can’t make his fingers cooperate. Can’t find the right leverage that should be second nature after all these years. 

He can wiggle less than an inch when he pulls against the creaking leather restraints. And that’s wrong too. 

It should be cold, metal bracelets that rattle when he pulls. That bite and pinch. And those hands. They’re too… they’re too small.

He gasps awake, his head clunks against the wall the jet's couch is wedged between. He grunts and rubs the bump as he sits up. The jet engine still hums. He frowns as he opens his eyes. His head no longer pillowed on Jack’s chest. 

It never was. 

Across the aisle, Desi plays with her phone. 

Disappointment is acute. He looks at his watch. Seventy-four minutes since he last checked. Insomnia remains his mortal enemy. 

Seeing that he’s awake, Desi pulls out an earbud. “You okay?”

Mac scrubs his face. “Weird dreams.”

“About the labs?”

He shrugs.

“For me, it’s all the test tubes and pig fetuses.” She shivers dramatically and watches him, leaving the topic open if he wants to continue.

He doesn’t. Not now. Not yet. Not until he has something more to offer. The reason these labs cause such a visceral reaction of “wrong, wrong, wrong” the instant he steps through the doors. 

The reason the hair on his arm stands on end. 

An answer for why these dreams returned with a vengeance after they uncovered the first one. 

He’s been in numerous labs before. Stainless steel and blue lights. Not one has induced a reaction like these.

“Fourth lab in two weeks,” Desi secures her TAC vest, and checks her gun. She taps the comm in her ear, listening for the static buzz that confirms it’s working. “Are we any closer to a breakthrough?”

“Riley’s working on the encryption from the electronic files, but she says she’s never seen so many logic bombs.”

“What about the paper files? We took home two planefuls of paper from the last one.”

Mac works on his own prep for their upcoming raid, carefully twisting a paperclip to untwist the knots in his brain. “There’s just too much. We don’t even know where to start and barely made a dent in it. Most of that is written in some kind of code too. They’re using equations and algorithms that even I can’t decipher.” 

Quick, nimble fingers massage the thin metal and Desi frowns as she watches them. No attempts to create a sculpture as far as she can tell, just absent twisting and turning and she thinks she’s getting a quick glimpse inside Mac’s mind that he usually keeps closed off. It’s even further than usual from her grasp. Locked up tightly. A coiled spring tied in a knot. 

Bending and twisting and suddenly the thin metal between his fingers snap. 

It’s quiet. No loud pop. No screech of metal. Mac barely even reacts to it when it happens, quietly hiding away the broken pieces. If she hadn’t been watching for it, she would have missed it completely. 

* * *

It’s a maze of corridors, exactly like the previous three labs. A nondescript, innocuous building that doesn’t attract attention on the outside. The eye ignores it, forgettable in the best way. Even with an address and GPS, the TAC team nearly passed it. Bozer would have a conspiracy theory about it and, in a perfect world, be egged on by Jack, that it’s surrounded by a reality distortion device, or a perception filter, or cloaked. Whoever selected it knew exactly what they were doing. 

And that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? Nothing is as it seems. 

Elevators that descend deep into the earth. These sublevels not listed on any blueprint or schematic. 

The TAC team systematically clear each floor before allowing the rest of the Phoenix teams to enter. He remains on sublevel three. It’s stark compared to the rest. No test tubes. No centrifuges or mass spectrometers or microscopes. The IT team is on SL two. The scientists down on SL four and normally Mac would join them, try to make sense of the science, but Mac can’t make himself move on. 

There’s something familiar here. 

Shining stainless steel reflecting the blue lights

His footsteps slow and he whirls around, eyes wide, expecting to find someone following him. Watching him. 

Observing him.

Studying him.

He shivers at the thought. 

The hallway is empty. He shakes himself, annoyed with the way he’s letting his imagination run away with him. How he’s jumping at his own shadows. He tightens his jaw and stalks purposefully down the corridor. Spins around the corner and jumps out of his skin when he runs into Desi.

“What the hell, MacGyver?” She shouts, annoyed that his surprised yell caused her to jump. 

“Sorry, just wasn’t expecting you.” Mac shivers again. 

Desi breathes out a sigh of relief and exasperation. 

“What did I scare you?” He smirks at her.

“I told you, these labs are giving me the creeps.”

“More pig fetuses?”

She shakes her head. “This one is different.” She frowns then gestures for him to follow her back down the way she came from. She pauses in front of a door at the end of the hallway as if to steel her nerves then pushes the door open.

Mac hesitates. In the nearly fourteen months he’s known Desi, he’s never once seen her rattled. Startled once. Surprised twice. And he’d argue that he's seen her spooked too but she’ll deny it and probably make him disappear painfully if he confides that in anyone. 

This is different.

He takes a breath and follows her inside, frowning as he takes in the contents of the room.

“It’s... it’s a playroom?” He slowly turns, observing from every angle.

“Have you ever seen a playroom with chains bolted into the floor?” Desi gestures toward one corner. “What kind of place is this? What kind of monster…”

Mac starts shaking. Bone rattling, teeth chattering shaking. He can’t catch his breath.

“Mac?” Desi steps up closer to him, but refrains from touching. “Mac, what’s wrong?”

The chains are heavy. Cold. Bruising his skin. Clanking with every movement. Stopping him halfway across the room. He reaches out. Stretching. Fingertips brushing against comforting softness that’s just out of reach. 

Warm.

Reassuring. 

And ripped away from his grasp as he’s dragged down the hallway. Tears falling silently. He knows better than to cry. It’s cold. He needs to be brave. It’s going to hurt. Only for a minute, the voices tell him. 

They’re lying. It hurts. It burns and he’s scared. And they yell when he cries.

“MacGyver!” 

Desi’s voice cuts through the fugue. Mac gasps as if his lungs suddenly remember how to draw breath after being smothered. He crashes backwards, hitting the wall and sliding to the floor. Short panicked breaths as he tries to slow his racing heart and mind. Tries to fight back against the terror attempting to claw its way out of his chest. 

He looks up at her, blue eyes wide.

“What the hell was that?”

“I-- I don’t know.” 

“I’m going to touch you,” she warns, tentatively reaching out and clasping his wrist, feeling his pulse. “It looked like some sort of flashback. Are you back with me?”

Mac nods, reciting by rote, “it’s April. Mac. Desi,” he points at himself then at her. “And I’m pretty sure we’re in some sort of episode of the Twilight Zone.”

“Think you can stand?” Desi holds out a hand that Mac accepts and she hauls him up. Her vigilant gaze wary.

He moves further into the room.

“Do you think that’s a good idea? After the reaction you just had?”

“I don’t know why I had that reaction though,” Mac shrugs. “Just looking for… for context.”

There isn’t another flash of memory. No glimmer of remembrance. The moment is gone. Lost, just like the dream. Just like Mac.

* * *

His arms are outstretched. Small hands straining. If he can just reach a little further. If only his fingers were longer. If he could pull a little harder. His shoulder protests. So does his ankle. But he’s so close. He can feel the fluffy softness just beyond his grasp.

Warm. Velvety.

A hard tug and his fingers close around cozy comfort. Safety. Security.

“Oof.” Jack jerks back. Mac’s hand sunken into his hair.

Mac startles backwards, letting go of his handful of fauxhawk.

“What’re you doing, hoss?” 

“I was…” he looks down at his hand, his long fingers, “reaching for something.”

“You caught something,” Jack rubs the top of his hair. Mussing his normally bristly hair, causing it to fall across his forehead.

Mac smirks. “Nice boyband look.”

“I’d be careful who you’re teasing, Mr. Beiber-hair-when-you-were-in-high-school,” Jack laughs, ruffling Mac’s hair. “Did I ever tell you I had a dream where he tried to blow me up?”

“What happened? Did you die?”

“Nope. I shot him,” Jack moves, settling on the couch next to Mac. “Want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“This is a dream.”

“Yeah,” Jack says with a shrug. “But maybe I can still help. Dream Jack is a pale comparison to the real man but it’s better than nothing.”

“I had… a… I guess some sort of flashback.”

Jack’s hand is so warm on his shoulder, tangible, fraught with life, with security. The thought that he can’t feel its familiar weight for real makes Mac's stomach drop. If Jack were with him, he’d know what to do. He’d help him work through the flashback and memories. Determine dreams from realities, just like he does when fireworks send him spiraling. 

“Back in the lab?”

“But I don’t… I don’t remember it. I don’t have context for it.”

Jack hums.

“It’s the same kind of… terror in my chest when I have those nightmares and I still can’t remember.” 

“Maybe you don’t want to.”

Mac gapes. “Why would I…”

Jack shrugs. “Because you’re scared to remember and that big brain is protecting you. Which, it’s about friggin’ time that brain of yours did something smart like trying to save the vessel it’s housed in instead of always throwing you head first into danger.”

“I don’t understand why I would be scared of a lab. I’ve been in hundreds of labs around the world and these aren’t even some of the worst ones.”

“I think they’d be pretty terrifying to a child,” Jack murmurs. “Parents are supposed to protect their children from the monsters. What else can a kid do when they are the monsters?”

Mac’s breathing comes in short gasps at the words. “He wasn’t…. They weren’t…”

“Who’s labs are they?”

He’s hyperventilating. “No. No. We found them. In James’ files. He was chasing them. It wasn't his project.”

“Aw, kiddo. Then why do you remember them? Why do you remember being there? Strapped down to a table and scared?” The voice warbles, echoes as though from far away. The warmth on his shoulder dissipating, the comforting weight vanishes.

Mac looks up as Jack starts to fade from view, reaching out fingers scrambling to hold on. “Wait. Jack. Don’t go. I… I need you.” 

His eyes fly open. He’s at home. Fell asleep in the recliner in the living room and someone draped a blanket over him.

Riley’s fingers are flying across the keyboard and she glances up. “That was almost two hours.”

“Sorry,” Mac rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“No, I’m glad. I know you haven’t been sleeping. And there’s really no reason for you to sit here and watch me work on this.”

Mac shrugs. “I thought when we decided that we should work on this at home, away from the Phoenix that we needed to have one person on watch.”

“You were. Woke up as soon as Bozer pulled in the driveway.” 

The front door opens a few seconds later and the delicious smell of Chinese food wafts down the hall, signaling his arrival. 

“We decided to order take out,” she explains. 

“Hey, hope you’re hungry,” Bozer calls from the kitchen. “Mrs. Lee says that she misses us and that Mac is too skinny so she gave us extra egg rolls. Come and get it!”

Though his appetite since James’ death and they began looking through his files has been practically nonexistent, Mac has to admit the food smells wonderful and he loads his plate down with chicken, pork, vegetables, and rice. Bozer and Riley smile approvingly at him. 

“Any breaking developments while I was gone?” Bozer says after a few moments of silently enjoying their dinner. “Did you break the code?”

Riley swallows. “I managed to open a huge file. A lot of it is redacted. Top secret, Eyes-Only kind of thing, tons of formulas and equations. It’s called Project Gemini.”

Mac chokes. “That was one of my dad’s projects.”

“Are you sure?” Riley exchanges a look with Bozer. 

Mac jumps up from the table, dashing into the living room and rifling through one of the many banker’s boxes filled with files.

“What’s wrong?” Bozer whispers to Riley while Mac is distracted.

“Project Gemini… I can’t be sure exactly what I’m looking at but it’s some pretty hinky stuff. I think it’s human experimentation.”

Bozer blanches.

Mac returns to the table with a stack of manila folders, bursting at the seams. “This stuff came from the safe in my dad’s office. I put this aside when we found those other labs but now…” he taps the top file, stamped in dark ink is the constellation of the Gemini twins. 

“You’re sure it’s his?” Bozer asks carefully. “Maybe it’s one of the projects he was tracking down to shut it down. Like Walsh and the super soldier serum?”

Mac flips open a file with a sheepish shrug. “I know he’s not really much for sentimentality but I… I was hoping it was his.” He flips the files to show his friends. Paperclipped to the top page is a photograph of a five year old blond kid. It’s Mac.

“I guess I was hoping this proved that at one time, I meant something to him.” 

* * *

Lab number five. 

Riley is watching him carefully. Stealing covert glances. He knows Desi told her and Bozer about his response to the last lab, even if she kept it out of the official report. And ever since they started digging further into Project Gemini their concern increased exponentially. 

He can feel it in the way Bozer keeps preparing his favorite meals. And Riley stays at the house until he’s half-asleep on the deck before she calls it a night. 

She’s waiting for… for him to snap. To break. To get lost in another flashback. To uncover something that puts him over the edge. Like the idea that his dad is a monster. She doesn’t realize that he grappled with that fear for years. The whole time he was searching for James it felt like less of a kid on a scavenger hunt and more like an agent hunting down a high priority target. And now he’s hunting a ghost. So it doesn’t scare him. Much.

Her eyes and teeth reflect the eerie blue glow.

The same innate dread wells up. Claustrophobia claws at his chest searching for the chance to escape. Choking him. 

Her shoulders brush against his instinctively, as she moves up beside him, drawing him out of his head. Keeping him firmly in the moment. He smiles at her gratefully.

She requested to come along with him this time. Claiming she wanted to see the lab for herself, that maybe seeing the lair of the mad scientist will help her get inside his head and crack his encryption. They very carefully don’t refer to him by name, rank, or paternity. But the idea that maybe they aren’t chasing some unknown, faceless monster hangs heavy between them. 

He’s grateful that he’s not here alone. 

He pushes open the door into one of the cordoned off labs. Giant freezers line one wall. The glass doors frosted over. Mac steps forward, gripping the handle and yanking it open. Cold vapor blasts forth, swirling around him. He shivers and coughs. Squinting against the cold air blowing in his face. His jaw goes slack.

“I’ve got a manifest here,” Riley says, lifting the clipboard from the hook on the wall, ruffling the pages attached to it. “Mac, they’re--”

“Embryos.”

Shelf after shelf. Row after row. Mac steps back. Fridge after fridge.

“Mice, pigs, cats, dogs, sheep… oh my god…”

“These are human.” 

Riley gives a weak laugh. “I thought Desi told me the worst part was the pig fetuses. She really undersold the creep factor.”

“Can you go up top and call Matty? These… these are going to need specialized transport.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Riley says, grateful for a reason to leave the lab. She pauses at the door. “Are you coming?”

Mac shakes his head. “I’m going to look around some more.” 

He rifles through a lab table, flipping through pages of the same encoded information. There’s a dusty filing cabinet under a countertop. It jiggles and jolts with a metallic clatter as he opens it. The files are yellowed. Older. Dated for the early nineties. The handwriting is neat, flowing. 

Familiar. Feminine. 

It stops in October of 1995. 

A crayon drawing falls out of the drawer and drifts to the floor. Mac can’t tear his eyes off of it. He recognizes the roughly drawn house. The car. A small family of lopsided stick figures. Arrows assigning them names. Dad. Mom. 

Angus.

On their own accord, his feet wander through the lab until he reaches a door on the opposite wall. His heart is racing as he opens it. 

A pair of stoic blue eyes meet his. 

* * *

The small hand is enclosed in his. A firm grasp for a hand so small. Secure. As if he thinks Mac will disappear if he lets go. Just like back at the lab, Riley ran point, clearing the corridor before Mac passed by. They can't let anyone see him. No one can know.

Helpless gazes exchanged between them as Mac leads his charge into Phoenix Medical. As soon as the smell of antiseptic hits his nose the child’s steps slow. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t resist. He doesn’t cry or react except that subtle slowing. 

In the exam room, the child looks from Mac to the table. Betrayal written on his face. 

Mac rubs the back of his neck, unsure of what to do. “We just… we want to make sure that you’re okay. That you aren’t hurt or sick. You’re safe here, I promise.” He steps forward. He suddenly feels like he’s a small child. Five years old and incredibly aware of how vulnerable he is. How young and defenseless he looks and feels. 

The child spares him another look, disappointed and defeated, then clambers onto the table. 

Mac doesn’t know if he should stand closer. Offer comfort to this child he feels a kinship with. He remembers the paradox his father had been with him. Cold, distant and irritated when Mac was sick as a child, yet dragging him to see the doctor for any cold, sniffle or bump. Caught up in the flashback of sitting in a cold room. Feeling excruciatingly exposed on the examination table, like he was a specimen in a lab…

He gasps. He can see his father standing, arms crossed on the other side of the room. Scowling. His face otherwise a stone mask. Mac insisting that he is fine, while James scolds him and tells him to stay still for the doctor. 

He shakes himself from the memory and moves forward, standing next to the bed. He doesn’t want the kid to feel alone. Not the way he was. He places his hand, palm up next to the child. He can reach out if he wants to. It’s something Jack would have done for him. The small face looks up at him, then down at his hand. 

The door opens and McClain enters slowly. Briefed quickly on the plane ride home but still unsure of what to expect. 

Mac has a feeling that if they had been anywhere else the kid might have taken a step closer to him. Try to hide behind his arm. Instead, he watches with impossibly large eyes as Mac and the doctor try to engage him. 

“What is your name?” McClain asks.

The child doesn’t respond.

“I’m Dr. McClain.”

Stormy eyes look up suddenly. His teeth close around his quivering lip, biting down as if to quell the tremble. He tucks his chin for a moment. Then looks up bravely. Extending his arm. No. _Surrendering_ it. 

Mac’s heart stutters. It is a confirmation of his worst fears. 

“You can call me Jon if you want. What would you like me to call you?” McClain glances up and meets Mac’s gaze for a moment before returning his full attention to the child. “How old are you?”

No response.

“Will you nod your head if I guess right?” 

A nearly imperceptible dip of his head.

“Are you five?”

There’s a firmer nod.

“Wow, five years old. You’re very grown up. I bet you can count and read and like to explore?”

He dips his head. 

“Maybe you like to learn about new things? This is a stethoscope,” McClain pulls the instrument from around his neck. “Have you ever seen one of these before?” 

Nod. 

“Do you know what it does?”

A tiny shake of his head.

“That’s okay. I can listen to your heartbeat with it.” McClain places his hand against the left side of his chest. “If you place your hand on your chest you can feel it.”

Slowly, curiously, the child’s hand moves to his chest. His eyes widening as he feels the rapid pulsing against his fingers. 

“That’s it,” McClain says with steady excitement. “I’m going to listen to Mac’s heartbeat with my stethoscope and when I’m done, would you like to listen?”

The child shifts, brow furrowing.

“It’s okay to watch first and then decide,” McClain says. He places the diaphragm flat against Mac’s chest and listens for a moment, then he pulls it from his ears, keeping the stethoscope in place over Mac’s heart. “Would you like to hear?”

The kid nods, scooting forward. Dr. McClain helps him position the ear tips. A confused smile breaks on his face as he listens.

“Would you like to hear yours?” McClain repeats the process on the child’s chest, spending a few extra moments listening to his heart and lungs before helping him listen as well. McClain quickly and efficiently talks him through the rest of the examination, demonstrating on Mac what he’s about to do before he approaches the kid, winning his trust. He takes some extra time and consideration while explaining the blood draw and why he needs to do it. Praising the child for his bravery during the process. Leaving Mac and the kid in the room while he takes the sample to the lab personally.

“You doing okay, kid?” Mac asks and he swears he can hear Jack’s teasing laughter as the words fall from his lips. 

He gives a small shrug. 

“Are you scared?”

His brow lowers in anger. Suspicion. 

_He's not allowed to be scared. He has to be brave._

Mac hurries to continue. “It’s okay if you are. I’m not going to judge you for that. Leaving the lab with strangers probably was pretty scary. I would have been scared. And I don’t really like doctor visits, they make me nervous. Sometimes my friend Jack goes with me if I’m worried. And it helps.”

The child stares up at him. Keen eyes studying him. Weighing his sincerity. Determining if he can trust Mac. 

“This would be easier if I knew your name. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. You can wait until you trust me,” Mac shrugs. “My friend, Jack, he does just fine using nicknames so I guess I can figure that out too. He calls me kid and hoss all the time.”

A smile twitches on his lips before it disappears behind an impassive expression. 

There’s a knock on the door and it swings open, Bozer bounds inside. He freezes. The room is silent and the click of the latch when the door closes reverberates like a gunshot.

“Mac,” he whispers, eyes on the kid.

“He was in the lab,” Mac says as an explanation.

“No-- I-- you…” Bozer shakes his head, taking a small step forward. The kid scoots closer to Mac’s side. “I mean, Mac,” he points. “It’s Mac.”

“What are you talking about? Are you okay?”

“I feel like I’m looking in a mirror from twenty-five years ago, only it’s not me. It’s you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Boze.”

“Neither does this.” Boze cocks his head to one side. “Hey, sorry, I don’t mean to scare you, kiddo. It’s just that you look exactly like my best friend a few years before the time when I met him. I’m Wilt Bozer, best friend of Angus MacGyver. What’s your name?”

The kid looks between Mac and Bozer.

“He hasn’t really said anything--”

“Angus.” 

Mac glances at Bozer, his brow furrowing at the kid’s answer, but Bozer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Hey, that’s a coincidence! Guess that means you and I are meant to be best friends too.” Bozer extends his hand. “Let me show you the best friend's secret handshake.” He walks the kid through the handshake step by step until they’re quickly cycling through hand slaps and snaps and the kid giggles in delight, while Mac’s mind races. 

The door opens and McClain steps through halfway. “Mac, I think you need to come and see this.”

“Yeah, okay, Bozer would you…”

“Stay here and hang with my new bestie? Absolutely.”

Mac follows McClain to the computer on wheels sitting right outside the exam room. Taking the seat that McClain offers him as Riley watches over his shoulder. He clicks a few buttons and the simulation runs. Two strands of DNA. The double helix that makes up a person. Unique genetics markers appear on the screen, moving to blend with each other, lining up perfectly.

Riley gasps.

He stares at the screen. “I don’t understand.” Mac pushes away from the computer, standing up. The rolling chair skitters across the hallway. “I-- I don’t understand.” He paces a few steps down the hall before returning to the computer, frowning. 

“And I don’t know what to tell you or how to explain it,” McClain replies. “I ran it again myself as soon as I got the results.”

“There has to be something wrong, because this isn’t possible.”

“Mac,” Riley’s hand reaches for his shoulder to placate him. To stall his restless movements. “This stuff happens, you wouldn’t be the first to…”

“Riley, he’s not my kid,” Mac shakes his head when she tries to speak. “The DNA results don’t say that he’s my child. They’re an _exact_ match. The results say that this kid is me.” 

“Well, that’s not possible…”

“Exactly.” Mac gestures emphatically and resumes his pacing. 

“What about… identical twins?”

Mac laughs, smoothing a hand against his cheek. “I know I have a baby face but…”

“And even identical twins’ DNA isn’t an exact match,” McClain answers. “I’m not a geneticist, but whoever owns that lab was trying to play God.”

“Can we get a geneticist in on this?” Riley asks. “Maybe they can offer another explanation?”

"Until we know more about what’s going on, I wouldn’t want to read anyone in on this,” McClain shakes his head. “I wouldn’t even want to offer this as a hypothetical situation.”

“Why not?” Riley asks. “If they could help us understand what’s going on here?”

“Because we have five labs filled with research that, even if we can’t decipher it, is suddenly starting to make sense. Horrible sense,” Mac looks through the observation window at the kid playing with Bozer. “And if this means what I think it means, that kid is proof of concept. And who knows what people might do to get their hands on him."

* * *

It’s dusk when the GTO’s engine roars, pulling into Mac’s driveway and he feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Jack is there to help him carry the burden. Mac throws open the front door and hurries down the walk. 

Jack drops his Army issued duffle, throwing his arms around Mac, pulling him in close, cradling Mac’s head to his chest. “I’ve missed you so much, kiddo,” Jack whispers around tears, and he presses his lips firmly to Mac’s temple. 

“Me too, Jack.” Mac sniffs. He’d managed to shove the feelings of loss down deep over the last year but having Jack here causes them to explode to the surface. Eases the ache he's somehow grown used it. He pushes himself closer to Jack’s chest, breathing in his familiar scent. “Thanks for coming back so quickly. I know you--”

“Anything for you, bud. I’m never leaving you again,” Jack vows.

And Mac’s heart stutters. He pulls back, smiling wetly at Jack. “Come on,” he grabs Jack’s bag, throwing his arm across Jack’s shoulders and leads him inside. 

“Where is he?” 

“Sleeping. He’s in my room,” Mac says gesturing for Jack to follow him down the hall. 

They observe little Angus through the doorway. The nightlight gives just enough light to see him by and Jack has to admit, the resemblance is eerily similar. 

“Can I get you anything?” Mac asks as they move back through the house leaving the kid still slumbering. 

“Some answers. And maybe a beer.”

“The beer I can do,” Mac says, rummaging through the fridge and tossing Jack a bottle. “The answers? I’m still waiting for those myself.” They wander out to the deck, and Mac lights a fire. Despite the months of separation, it feels just like old times. For the first time in months, it feels like home. 

Jack takes a long draw from his beer, watching as Mac’s fingers pick at the label, twisting the bottle in his hands, picking it up, setting it down. Then picking it up again. Jack reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of paperclips. He catches Mac’s hand, turning it palm up and drops the small pieces of wire into it one by one. 

Mac’s smile warms Jack’s heart. He slowly begins untwisting the paperclips and the words start flowing. “After James died, I started going through his things. I wanted to tie up any loose ends, complete projects. I stumbled on a lab. I thought maybe it was Walsh and KX7 serum. I wanted… I don’t know, to give him some closure, I guess.”

“Makes sense. You’re a good kid, Mac.”

“I still didn’t know him. I tried. I really did. Desi and Russ said… basically told me to grow up and get over it cause he’s my dad. I guess I felt like I owed it to him to finish things up for him. Maybe I thought that it would give me the chance to know who he was.”

“Hey, putting aside everything. Everything you found in the labs and his research, you didn’t, you don’t owe him anything. I know I started your dad-search by saying some of those same things that they did, but I was wrong.”

“You weren’t. I did want to know him, or the chance to, but even after I found him, he didn’t give me the chance. He never made an effort to know me, or let me get close.”

“He might have been your father, but he wasn’t your daddy.”

“Thanks, Yondu.”

“Another father figure with a badass mohawk. But I’m sorry, Mac, Quill is cooler than you.”

“What?” Mac protests.

“Musical taste, movies, pop culture references…”

“His pop culture knowledge is completely from the seventies and eighties.”

“Starlord knows what’s up.”

Mac shakes his head, the teasing banter is like a balm for the ragged edges of his soul. He didn’t realize until he had him back, how much he needed Jack in his life to soothe his mind and allay his insecurities.

“Alright, go on. Lay the rest of this on me.”

“Riley’s still working on the decryption, but between the two of us, we’ve started piecing together a file called Project Gemini. Initiated by James and Ellen MacGyver in 1989.”

“El… your mom?”

Mac nods. “Before he died, he told me my mom was part of DXS and had some radical ideas about letting people die so the earth reset itself.”

Jack rubs his forehead, feeling a headache brewing. “This is some Avenger’s level shit. And you know how I feel about my movie plots spilling over into real life.”

“It’s only allowed if you get to meet John McClane.”

“Bingo,” Jack points at Mac. “Okay, so wipe out civilization and start over with a population that you hand select and genetics you can cultivate. Create a super species.”

“Yeah, this project ran parallel with the KX-7 serum. At least for a while.”

“Next you’re gonna tell me Walsh is your uncle.”

“No, but I have an aunt out there trying to continue my mom’s vision who wants me to help her.”

“It’s like a bad sci-fi movie crossed over with a soap opera.” 

“I knew neither of them would ever win any kind of parent of the year awards but…” he shakes his head. “They spent most of the eighties doing their experiments with calves. And then I came along. Guess I was another little calf. Little Angus MacGyver. I always wondered if my name was some kind of joke and… I guess it was. I was just their chance to progress to human trials.”

“But you were just a baby,” Jack’s hand clenches around the bottleneck so tightly Mac is worried it will shatter against his skin. He stares into the fire, willing his emotions in check. “I know you just lost him kid and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but it’s a good thing they’re both gone.”

Mac swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, it is, I just.... I looked for him for all those years for some answers. I thought no matter what I found it would somehow help but now… Just more questions. Worse questions. Did they even want me? Did they plan to have a kid just so they could experiment on him?”

“Aw, kiddo,” Jack grips the back of Mac’s neck.

“All those years, all those nightmares were just repressed memories of my parents…” he shakes his head. “He... he has them too, the dreams. Wakes himself up crying, but he won’t talk about it. He barely talks at all.”

“Who knows about him?”

“Matty, McClain, Riley, and Bozer. And now you. And that’s it.”

“What about Desi or your new… friend…”

“No one else. We don’t know who else knows about Project Gemini and can’t risk anyone finding out. We don’t know how deep this goes or what someone might be willing to do with that information.”

“Yeah, okay, that makes sense. How are you holding up?”

“Honestly? Having you here is the first time in a long time that I haven’t felt scared.” 

Jack pulls Mac close, tucking Mac’s shoulder under his arm. Mac’s head under his chin, breathing in his hair. Sunshine, warmth, a touch of citrus. Even as he feels Mac’s relaxing, tension leaching out, Jack’s senses go on high alert. He tightens his arm around Mac’s shoulders, lifting his head. Eyes scanning the tree line. 

He hears a click and feels Mac stiffen.

“On three, go in the house. Get the kid.”

Mac explodes out of Jack’s arm sprinting into the house while Jack springs to his feet. Tossing the bucket of sand on the fire and plunging the deck into darkness. Laying down cover fire that is quickly returned. He leaps behind an Adirondack chair, drawing fire and determining the number of unfriendlies and their positions. 

His heart pounds, recognizing the distinct formation of a CIA extraction squad. Mac was right. He usually is. An attack launched on the house within days of finding the child. His blood burns with fury at this violence and terror heaped upon a _child_. 

The nightlight in the bedroom goes dark. Jack dashes towards the house, nearly tearing the door from its hinges. The steady pop of gunfire follows him and the pane of glass in the window shatters as he slams the door. 

Mac is in the hallway. Kid in his arm. Go bag on his shoulder. 

“There are two three-man teams out back,” Jack relays. 

Mac jostles the kid as he reaches into his pocket. In the darkness, Jack sees him retrieve a small coin. He inserts it into the slot on the mechanical horse in the hallway by the front door and turns the dial. 

“Duck.”

An explosion rocks the house as the deck goes up in flames.

“When the hell did you rig that?” Jack yells over the deafening roar.

“Couple months ago,” Mac shouts back, ears ringing. The kid buries his head against Mac’s shoulder. Mac covers his head for protection and offering comfort. “You always said I needed a better security system.”

Jack takes a second to smile before he pulls open the front door, peering into the darkness. He fires a few rounds, waiting for return fire before pulling Mac behind him and racing for the GTO.

“I meant like locks on the doors. Maybe a camera. An alarm. Not that you rig the deck to blow if you’re being invaded.”

“What can I say? I’m an overachiever.”

* * *

They drive all night. The kid sleeps in the back. Mac and Jack keep turning around, checking on him. Street lamps and traffic lights flood the car in rhythmic patterns, illuminating his sleeping face for a few seconds at a time. 

Jack watches his kid too. Jaw clench. Hands folded in tight fists. Deep lines of tension around his eyes. And after a few hours and the adrenaline dissipates, and he’s sure they aren’t being followed, Mac dozes in the front seat. They ditch their phones. Jack buys a burner when they stop for gas and calls Riley.

She cries and yells and tells him to be careful. And they ditch this phone too, promising to check in again when it’s safe. A friend of Jack’s cousin has a cabin he never uses up north towards the Oregon border. And Jack isn’t above a little light B&E for the safety of his family. 

The temperature drops as they move closer to the coast. The fog drenched air leaves thick condensation on the windshield and the wipers fly furiously. 

The first tendril of sun is peeking over the horizon when they pull up to the cabin. Jack picks the lock, systematically clearing the four rooms before he carries the kiddo inside. Jack’s kid stumbles after them. He puts the two of them in the bedroom, tucking them in. Allowing himself a moment to ghost his hand across both blond heads. He pauses at the doorway, watching Angus curl up closer to Mac in the cold cabin. Mac shifts, tucking the kid under his arm. Jack takes the couch for himself. Falling into an uneasy doze, gun tucked under his pillow.

Sunlight floods the room when he wakes, but that’s not what woke him. 

A pair of blue eyes study him. Which is not unusual, except that now since he’s living in a weird ambiguous B grade science fiction plot, the face is about twenty-five years younger than he’s used to.

Jack stretches. “Hey, kid. You okay?”

He doesn’t reply. But he doesn’t scurry away when Jack sits up either. 

“I’m Jack.”

Recognition dawns on his face and Jack’s going to have to ask Mac if clones share memories not just DNA. 

Tiny fingers pick nervously at tinier cuticles. And twist the sleeves of his shirt. Both moves are reminiscent of his partner. Jack smiles. He searches his pocket. Telegraphing his moves because the kid is traumatized enough as it is, he holds out a paperclip. The small hand tentatively reaches for it, looking up at Jack to make sure it's really okay. That this isn't a trick.

“Mac likes to play with these,” Jack explains as the kid turns it over in his hands. “Straightens ‘em out, and folds them up again. I think it helps him think. Or makes him think less. Let him focus his energy instead of being worried. Sometimes his brain gets too busy. Crowded and noisy.”

The kid tips his head thoughtfully. He slowly unbends the thin metal, frowning in concentration.

Jack’s stomach rumbles loudly and the kid laughs.

“Guess I’m pretty hungry.” He grabbed a package of beef jerky in one of the convenience stores but aside from that, it’s been about twenty-four hours since he’s eaten. “Are you hungry?”

The kid shrugs. 

“Let’s go see what we can find in the kitchen.” He holds out his hand. The kid studies it for a moment, like he did the paperclip, before placing his in Jack’s. 

Jack's heart bursts at the trust this hurting kid is placing in him and can only hope that he lives up to it.

The kitchen is sparse. Searching through the pantry, he finds some quick oats, shelf-stable milk, and honey. 

“It’s not much, but it’ll stick to your ribs long enough for us to do some grocery shopping,” Jack explains pulling out a large kettle and turning on the stove. Then he swings the kid up onto the countertop so he can participate in breakfast making and Jack can keep an eye on him. He talks and sings and bops around the kitchen as the kid watches him curiously.

The pot bubbles and Jack divvies up the portions, carefully explaining the correct ratio of oats, milk and honey, when he hears a thump from the bedroom and Mac’s panicked yell.

“Jack! I can’t find him.”

“Don’t worry, Mac. I got A.J. out here with me.”

“Who--” Mac’s voice cuts off when he bursts out of the bedroom and sees the two of them grinning at him. “A.J.?”

“He needs a name. I can’t just call him kid all the time, kid.”

“That doesn’t stop you from doing that with me.”

“I can’t call him Mac, cause you’re Mac. And I sure ain’t gonna call him Angus,” Jack shudders. Not now. Not knowing what he knows. If he could turn back time, he would go back and never allow himself to refer to Mac as a cow or a burger or beef. Never as some animal to be used. “A.M. doesn’t really have the ring to it that I’m looking for. He doesn’t know if he has a middle name or not, but I figured James named him after you, maybe he gave him your middle name too. Angus Jackson. A.J.”

* * *

The cool coastal evening air blows puffs of fog across the clearing. Mac shivers into his jacket while Jack builds a fire in the pit a stone’s throw from the cabin. A.J. is sleeping inside and Mac doesn’t want to disturb him, but they need to talk.

He just doesn’t know how to say this.

Jack breaks the silence first. “We’ll figure this out, Mac. I promise you. We’ll find anyone who was ever involved with him and we’ll make them answer for what they did. For what they put you through for all those years. What they put that kid through.” 

Mac nods, not trusting his voice. His eyes shine in the glow of the firelight. “I’m going to find them. Walsh. Gwen. Anyone who ever knew about this.” He clears his throat as it cracks on the last word. 

Jack’s hand wanders across Mac’s back to his opposite shoulder, pulling Mac in close under his arm. 

"I'm going to track them all down." Mac's voice is steely as he allows his head to be tucked under Jack’s chin. Accepting the comfort he craves for just a moment longer. When Jack’s hand scratches through his hair, he forces himself to pull away. He already knows how hard this is going to be. 

“You can’t come with,” Mac looks up. Eyes hardened.

“What?” Jack angles back, one corner of his mouth pulling up to a confused, bemused grin. “I already told ya, task force is disbanded. Kovac and his crew are gone, for real this time. It’s just the clean up but even if it wasn’t, leaving ya was a mistake. It was always a mistake, but especially now.”

“No, Jack, I didn’t ask you to come back for another manhunt.”

“You didn’t have to ask.”

“There’s something else that I need you to do.” Mac gestures back to the cheerily glowing cabin. To where the kid sleeps. “I was worried what would happen if people found out about him. Would they take him? Hide him in some lab and experiment on him? Kill him? Autopsy him to find out how he was created? Last night… We've only known about him for a few days and someone sent a kill squad to retrieve him. I need to know he’s safe.”

“Then let me find them and take care of them. I’m a good dog to hunt with.”

“The best,” Mac smiles thickly. “But I need you to do something more important. I need you to protect him.”

“My job has always been to protect you.”

“And he’s me,” Mac says with a heartbroken shrug. “He’s five years old and his whole world has come crashing down around him and I’m very aware of what that’s like. Believe it or not, he might be even more broken than I was.”

“Mac… I can’t leave you.”

“You aren’t.”

Jack brushes a hand over his eyes. 

“I’m asking you to do this for me. There’s no one else I can trust with him. No one else who will try to understand him the way you will. That’s why I... “ Mac shakes his head. “I thought maybe the man who raised me, might be willing to raise him too.” 

Tears roll down Mac’s cheeks and he brushes them away. “One of us should get the chance for a happy childhood. And no one would ever be able to give him a better one than you.”

* * *

The dull roar of the highway fills his ears. The moon and his headlights are the only light in the darkness. Jack glances into the backseat at the small child sleeping, head against the window, blond hair falling across his face. He looks so much like his partner and yet.

“No one can know,” Mac’s voice fills his head. “I-- I talked with Matty. She’s made arrangements, but none of us will know where you are. For your safety, we can't. We won’t be able to contact you.”

Jack’s hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“I’m so sorry. I know what I’m asking of you. And it’s not fair of me. And I’m so sorry, Jack.”

Tears blur the road, the light wavers and stretches.

Mac hugged him. Gripping his black leather jacket in both fists. Jack’s hand tangled in Mac’s hair. 

“I made you a promise, kid,” Jack’s voice broke as he held on just a little tighter, for just a moment longer. It will never be enough. “You’re him. And he’s you. And I promise that I will never leave you. 

**Author's Note:**

> Project Gemini was a storyline from season 3 of The Pretender.
> 
> Yondu and Peter "Starlord" Quill are characters from Guardians of the Galaxy.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [violetvaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetvaria/pseuds/violetvaria) Log in to view. 
  * A [Restricted Work] by [violetvaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetvaria/pseuds/violetvaria) Log in to view. 




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